SPINNING TO NOWHERE

Like ricotta cheese
in a manicotti shell,
I am stuffed like cannelloni
into pricey bicycle shorts
to sit on a stationary bike
accompanied
by like minded disciples
half my age,
for an hour ride
to absolutely nowhere.

Spinning,
in a choreographed IPOD moment,
to a downloaded musical beat
that was born and weaned in Africa,
my Tony Bennett feet
never leave my bike pedals,
but my mind wanders the world,
and I never travel alone.

We explored Portugal, Spain,
and the islands of the Carribean
before we drove our old Mercedes
from Connecticut to California,
breaking down, only once,
in Abilene Texas, a dry town,
where we were obsessed
with the absence of ice cold beer
for three days.

We rented a little redwood cottage in La Jolla,
a block from the ocean,
and lived with our cat, Picasso,
for two incredible years
until a patina of mildew
hovered over us
and the tomato plants,
driving us inland
to chase the sun.

Although we considered ourselves married
from the first moment we met,
we not only took the next step in 1975,
we bought a house with a view
from Mexico to Pacific Beach.
Then we adopted our dog Chagall,
surrounded ourselves
with flowers, gardens, and cats,
and lived out our dream in full color.

But today is not a dream,
and my instructor just reminded me
that I should spin faster,
from my core,
with complete 360 degree motion.

I am now in the zone,
at least I appear so,
but I slip away again,
to savor memories from,
Africa, smiles from Asia,
and celebrations of laughter
from Europe, all shared
with my best friend.

The end is in sight,
the hour nearly over,
and I return to reality;
to what is,
rather than what was.

My bike hasn't moved,
but I spanned almost forty years
in the course of an hour,
and will travel with her
again and again,
from class to class...
Spinning,
with extreme enthusiasm...

to absolutely nowhere.

© JOHN PISCATELLA